


To Thee, I Claim My Own

by skipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Drama & Romance, Historical, M/M, Victorian, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skipper/pseuds/skipper
Summary: Outside its walls, the House of Tomlinson is a distant dream. The walls are high, holding in the hope and power every simple man has. It is a place that Harry, at one time, longed to be. But years later, working in the home has introduced him to a world of pain, despair without escape.Then, after a chance encounter with the Tomlinson heir, he is introduced to a new world. It brings feelings he never believed he would experience, leading to choices he never expected to make.With Louis, he finds a sudden strength to discover if he can fight for what they could have ultimately. It is forcing him to choose. Either a life with Louis or break a deal, one that protects all he holds dear.
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. I hope you enjoy this nonsense. It's a historical fiction, and lots of drama and angst.

_“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.” – Unknown_

_My dearest Harry,_

_I find myself speechless and unable to write many words. I sit here at this table that I built for you. I look around and see the many things that I hoped for us. But in the end, I fear many of these thoughts will be in vain._

_I write this letter, only to be given to you in the chance of my death. You will not read it otherwise. Should I finish this journey with you, I will destroy its very existence. The thought that you and I might not spend our final hours together is positively awful._

_I see the fireplace and think of the hours I hoped to spend with you. I wished for children around our feet, playing and likewise. When I walked through what I had thought to be our bedroom, though it looks reasonably silly with hardly any furniture, I think of the nights I hope to be holding you in my arms._

_I want to raise a family, create this home, which would be only ours, Harry. We would make this life, which was simply ours, an experience that no one could choose but us. We would have children, and we would see their children. We would have happiness and holidays. I would find work, something in carpentry, I hoped. And every inch of our home would have remnants of you, your own personal touches that you have never had the opportunity to unveil._

_There is a ring inside this envelope. It is a ring that I hoped to one day give to you in hopes that we might one day share our love in front of those that cared for us. Should I arrive, I kept it here, and I would destroy this letter, get down on one knee, and place it on your finger myself. But now, while you are reading, place it on your finger. This is a reminder that I am always with you. I will never leave you, darling, even if you find love other than mine, I am always with you._

_I wanted all of these things for you, darling. I want you to still have them. I want you to keep this house. I want you to be happy, find someone, and have a family. Most of all, Harry, I want you to live in a way you have never thought you would. I want you to experience life. You are free now, free from everything._

_I wish I had some wonderful words to say to you. I want some profound speech that might convey all these tears I am currently shedding. Some writing that would express the depth of my feelings and love for you, but alas, I have none. Just know that I will always love you. I have always loved you._

_Though our time was short, it was more powerful than I had ever hoped to experience. I treasure every moment we had together. Every minute and hour in your arms was a lifetime more than I could have asked for. I love you, darling. For all eternity, until we can be together again, I will love you._

_You are free now. My death will never be in vain because I know you are free._

_Until we meet again, darling, my heart remains with you._

_Always yours,_

_Louis_


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

The entire estate was busied and hurried throughout the day, all the huffs and complaints as they were overworked and left sleepless in preparation for the coming reception. It was not the first and certainly not the last, but this one was filled with more people of higher manner. Harry Styles released a huff of breath as he scurried down the long hallway, eyes peering for anyone who might be overlooking, or more importantly, watching him specifically. Though he did not see them, Harry was fully aware they were watching. If not them, then someone in search of offering a punishment, as though he needed another. The marks from the last continued to linger over his soft skin, a reminder of which he had no control.

He neared the large ballroom in time, though the face of the one before him informed Harry that he was indeed performing less than satisfactorily. He kept his face even and unflinching, appearing that he had not noticed and neared the intended corner. The various cordials and other liquors lined the wall behind the post, but he knew there was more to prepare for the occasion. It was the night above most others, as the cousin of the heir was to celebrate with all of society.

Ignoring the terse atmosphere behind him, Harry took much time arranging the counters and supplies accordingly. He knew to stay busy, not appear bored or restless, but most importantly, knew his place in this home. Today was not a traditional duty, but certain punishments could not be avoided, something he knew all too well. There was a standard and protocol to his status, one he often fought against, which was a fruitless effort. He was a servant for a reason, and he could not risk losing what had been given to him long before.

After fulfilling his specific duties, Harry moved through the vast hall, assisting in the adjoining areas. In the large household there were many employed, most were ones he spent little time with, but had come to know a few of the faces. Others didn’t last long, but even they would know their place on a day such as this one. Despite his personal thoughts, it was not uncommon for others to find him difficult, but Harry simply ignored them, they were never working in the house long enough as it was. His own personal thoughts could not pretend he was not indispensable as well.

One each chore had been completed, nearly to perfection, the final sounds of new orders were heard, spouted by the ones in charge of the extravagant event. Harry glanced around the room as he awaited the next instruction. His gaze lingered on the transformed room and could not help but feel in awe. Despite being a part of it, the mixture of hands created quite a masterpiece. It wouldn’t meet the approval of those that lived there, but it was beautiful all the same.

The entire room was spectacular; each decoration sitting perfectly aligned with the following, each table aligning the walls sat adjacent to the next. The centerpieces had been placed exactly right, along with each place setting, napkin, and card, named with the various members of society set to attend. With the afternoon reception, only finger foods were necessary, along with the cocktails. Harry’s post was a simple, yet mundane, with the task of keeping each glass full.

Harry sighed contentedly as the sound of music filled the air and glanced to see the quartet warming up in the opposite corner. It was soft music that Harry rarely heard, but thoroughly enjoyed. It was very peaceful and eased his despaired soul. A quiet murmur rang through the group at the announcement of the official ceremony’s end, which meant the guests would be arriving in the ballroom at any moment. Suddenly the calm moment was replaced by the furious movements by all to perfect the hall even further, as though it was possible.

Harry pressed his hands against his pants, smoothing the thick fabric as he took a glance around the room. Fingers brushed his brunette hair from his face and away from his face. Out of necessity, he was consistently eyeing for anything out of place, always aware of who might be watching. It was just another constant in his life, lingering day in and day out, giving far too much grief, and ultimately, hopelessness.

As the minutes passed, Harry felt his nerves on the rise, a sense of unease growing with the anticipation of the family’s arrival. The pressure of the event at hand mixed with the thought of interacting with the unfamiliar people only increased his nervousness. It was his duty to stay behind the scenes, be inconspicuous, though there were some that made it rather difficult. But it was what he had learned, and he performed the part well, for the most part.

Suddenly, the large door opened, and Harry watched the first couple arrive. He skittered away, shifting out of sight with the presence of the guests. He knew his place and quickly moved behind the wine table, into the shadows and out of sight. On one hand it seemed to take forever, but he knew this would be the quietest moment of the evening. Society was never content with a glass full of champagne, as he’d learned when he’d arrived there as a small child.

Once the newly married couple’s names were announced, Harry’s duties would begin. It was his responsibility to fill each glass presented to him, not say a word and smile when indicated by those above his station. In between guests, he was to stand in the shadows and be hidden until that time, after all, someone like him could not fit into standards such as these. He was dirty and unkempt, and the family and guests were sophisticated in a way that he would never truly understand.

Harry once again brushed back the hairs from his face and straightened his shirt. It was a pristine white, donned with the thick black tie and pants to cover the rest of his lean frame. He knew who would most likely watching and lurking in some corner, always to ensure Harry was doing his best. Agatha was always looking after him, reminding of his place far too often. Harry checked once more to ensure his shirt was still tucked into the pants, mentally reminding himself to look as simple as possible.

After much time had passed, Harry began to feel the familiar ache in his legs and released a quiet, yet slow, breath to ease the tension. He had been standing in the same spot for what felt like hours, though was aware there were many more hours ahead. Harry let out a deep breath as he stealthily moved his legs without it disturbing anyone’s sight of him. He knew he could make it through the evening, but for now, he let himself wish he were anywhere else.

A line of sweat crept down his back from the warm temperature of the room and held in the urge to wince. The perfect attire was rough against his skin and mixed with the sweat, it made the pain in his hip nearly unbearable. As he looked down, Harry longed for the hours when he might remain in the sun, letting the thought wash over him for a few moments. The gardens were such a reprieve from his undesirable life and helped him forget each moment like this.

Harry faced forward as a loud applause rang throughout the air, watching as the bride and groom moved through the room. He could not hide the smile from his face as he eyed the scene, the beautiful couple looking happy and content. The bride was immaculate, leaving not only her fresh husband, but also the entire room in awe. They walked slowly as they were introduced and moved towards the main table, the wedding party following moments later.

Harry could only eye the scene from his place, the entire room oblivious to his presence, but that was as it should be. His gaze constantly moved to the couple as time progressed, watching every move and whisper, a sense of longing replacing his boredom. And as the dancing began, starting with their first dance, he felt a sensation similar to envy growing. Although he knew the validity of the couple’s relationship and the small chance their happiness would last, the feeling still loomed, a reminder that it could never be him. He could never have a love like this.

This was the happiest day in the young woman’s life, the entire world staring, loving, whispering, and eyeing her with desire. All the months, or mere weeks in this case, of decisions and planning had finally been put into effect. Anyone who laid eyes on the room could see the results turned out perfectly. The room had been transformed into the woman’s own personal opus, and she, the centerpiece.

Harry furrowed his brow as the groom stood just feet behind her, a look of pure awe and admiration filling his eyes. He watched as she wowed the room, practically sending every man to his knees. But in those single moments when that bride faced her husband, she saw only him, something not witnessed for the first time. But ultimately, it was not his own evening and Harry grew to feel forced to watch the display. He resorted to counting inside his head to pass the time, fighting his own internal jealousy of the moment. The couple continued with the playful banter and declarations of love, causing their mothers to weep. He heard the various whispers of the ceremony, the rumors of the man, full and constant despite the event.

At the mention of him breaking down during the vows or the woman barely able to walk down the aisle without hysterics, caused Harry to shiver with distaste. The groom was not the man most imagined; he was not kind or jovial, but heartless, something Harry had learned long before. Quietly clearing his throat, Harry felt his mood lighten slightly as the guests began to approach one by one. It eased the time to pass in an eager smoothness. But these people were not kind, and much like the groom, rather treated him like most other workers, reminding of his status. It was as though they thought he could forget.

As the afternoon turned to evening, the ache in his back seemed to worsen. The nicer shoes he rarely wore burned into his feet, though Harry continued to hold his facade as each of the guests came to get their fill of the wine or liquors. Every few moments, he glanced towards the main table, wary of its occupants and hoped he could stay inconspicuous.

At eighteen, Harry was more than willing to admit he was isolated, but each part of his day was filled with a reason and purpose. And there was nothing inside of him that would allow him to discount that. Despite the continual punishments, he was attuned to the life, knew what to expect and survived on it. But he moved his thoughts aside and continued wiping the counters, keeping from the sight of the many. Harry cast his eyes down as each person passed, focusing only on the task at hand. He moved behind the drink counter, organizing, and removing each dirty glass that had been left behind.

After a few moments, he glanced up at the couple once again, and shook his head, slightly annoyed now. The circumstances were frustrating. The groom was looked upon by his wealth and status, no one knowing how truly vile he and his family could be. The thought had Harry so consumed, he was completely unaware of the boy that now occupied the other end of the counter.

“’Tis ridiculous, is it not?” he laughed. Harry looked up at him, most startled that he had spoken to him. The boy flashed a wide grin, and he was unsure of the smile on his face, but knew what to do, and quickly dropped his eyes from his form.

“Not necessarily ridiculous,” he spoke slowly, wary of him, of all of them. He glanced towards the boy and released a breath before speaking, “Just slightly unrealistic.”

“How so?” he mused. Harry shrugged his shoulders in the most improper fashion and waved his arm towards the married couple, fingers pointing.

“Well, perhaps you look around,” he reasoned, growing more confident as he spoke. “Each in this room is watching and desiring their own marriages, or potential courtships, could be like this one.”

“And you do not think they will?” he asked, and Harry shook his head. Harry slowly met the boy’s eyes and was surprised at the unabashed curiosity that filled his gaze.

“No, I believe that type of love is written far too often and farfetched, would you not say?” Harry responded after a moment. “This true love people speak of. It exists with conflicts and betrayals. Each day together is a fight and a struggle to survive, a true test for those to stay together. I cannot be sure if it is as those say.”

“Sounds like this love is more about hate,” the boy said with a playful tone in his voice. Harry resisted the urge to smile as he spoke again, seeming to forget his place in his presence.

“You may not like each other every day,” he reasoned. “But if I were to follow their explanation of love,” he said softly, wary of others listening to the spiteful conversation, “then I suppose, the love is always there, one just has to be willing to fight for it.”

“I take you know about this type of love,” he said with a sad smile. Harry shook his head, pouring him another glass of the wine, watching as he took a small sip.

“Not at all,” he answered easily. “But I know a lie when I see one.”

“And they are lying?” he asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. A smile played at the corner of his lips as the boy continued to watch him, and Harry nearly blushed at his scrutiny, knowing now that he’d lost his place, yet again. It was uncommon for anyone to look at him directly, especially a man of this status, a member of society, which made it unnerving.

“Although that couple is happy today,” Harry answered honestly, unsure of why he was doing so. “Who is to say they will be tomorrow, or the next day, or in, say thirty years.”

“But where’s the lie in that?” he countered.

“And if there is no love, but this mirage fools you as well?” he asked him, pushing when he should hold back.

“A mirage,” he repeated Harry’s words. His eyes continued to remain playful as he awaited his answer, a smile playing at his lips, “I suppose I do not understand what you mean.”

“Okay,” Harry spoke slowly, questioning how this would keep him from any trouble. “From far away it looks beautiful and entrapping,” he said as his eyes remained on the couple, “but as you to step closer, the layers fall, revealing only emptiness in their wake.”

“So, you believe love will never happen?” he asked softly. His eyes bore into Harry’s wide ones and he shook his head, unnerved by the way the boy was staring. It was as though he could read his soul, something Harry kept very dear to himself. Still, Harry’s eyes remained on his face as he spoke again, feeling bold despite his circumstance, giving in to the urge to continue the conversation.

“No,” he finally responded. “It might be to some, but not for these two.”

“Never, hm?” the boy chuckled.

“No,” Harry repeated, nodding as he watched him from the corner of her eye, not bothering to see if others were approaching. This was dangerous territory, but he couldn’t help himself from leaning closer to the boy.

“And why is this?” he asked leaning close from across the counter. He raised an eyebrow, and Harry bit his lip to hold in the heat from rising to his cheeks. He had not held a conversation with this type of depth in quite some time.

“Because I-,” he hesitated, answering slowly with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Their parents are far too much involved.”

“Sure,” the boy argued playfully, speaking as though he agreed with him. He began to purse his lips at the atrocity of him continuing the conversation as it was but responded anyway. 

“Yes,” he nodded without argument. Harry stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to answer, fearing he had spoken too much. The boy began to smile again, and he continued, “But I would be right in my assumption that you already know?”

“I do,” the boy conceded. His eyes softened as he stared, and Harry turned from his gaze. It was growing far too inappropriate and he shifted towards the far end of the counter, away from the tender moment.

Harry looked over to the boy as he stood straight once more, but leaned over the table, using one arm for support. He reached his other hand forward and he was immediately taken aback by how he wanted his hand, considering his status, among other things. Despite his improper behavior, he continued unashamed, and Harry could see his haughty demeanor shining through as he continued to watch him, his hand now inches from his own.

“Louis,” the boy spoke calmly, “Tomlinson.”

Harry held in a gasp as he realized who he’d been speaking to all this time. The prodigal son had returned for the wedding and he had just made a fool of himself in front of the _heir_. It’d been a long time since he’d last seen him and the boy had grown well, a thought that made the blush on his cheeks darken considerably and he knew the other would be able to tell.

“I know,” Harry responded finally, lying to Louis. He wished he had not made a fool of himself, certain a punishment was to follow. He gave a short nod and did not return his gesture. Louis gave him a slow smile as he dropped his hand, and they stood for several moments without speaking. Harry was somehow grateful for the unexpected silence.

“Are you going to reveal yours?” Louis asked and Harry held in an unsteady breath, feeling uncertain as he shook his head.

Louis finally lifted his glass, as though to say thanks, and turned as his name was called. Harry watched as he gave one final glance before slowly returning to the main table, resuming his seat between the cousins, whom he knew far too well. He realized now how fatal his error in judgement would be and did not dare to look and see who might have noticed his indiscretion.

Still, Harry found he couldn’t help himself, staring for a moment towards Louis. But the smile that had formed on his lips faded as his gaze shifted to the one beside Louis, feeling a weighted chill as his first cousin met his eye, and Harry knew he had seen it all. And when Louis glanced his way once more, Harry instantly turned away, fearing the truth was lingering amongst them. It was a reminder of who this family was to Harry, who they would always be. Though it was a passing thought, Harry wondered if it possible that Louis was different.

But perhaps, at the same time Harry had not known his name, Louis knew all about him. Perhaps it was a vicious game instigated by his deplorable cousin. There were certain things that could not change, should not shift from the way they were. It was how it was meant to be, what would always be. Besides, there was nothing worse than the impending punishment, fully aware it was coming now. And what could be worse than the older boy knowing everything. What could be worse than Louis knowing too.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The wise man in the storm prays to God, not for safety from danger, but for deliverance from fear.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Harry held his lips tightly together, holding in a yawn as he moved through the crooked, narrow hallway. The stairway always made his heart race and insides quiver with fright. Overall, he did not scare easily, but there were too many reminders in the darkness to hide from. Throughout the estate, there were various tunnels that had him wary of who he might encounter but knew there were few that knew the system as he did.

The stairs were not so bad later on in the day, with the bright sunlight streaming through the wood's various marks. But first thing in the morning, when the sun had not yet risen, the bleak assent left a dark blur over his day. At times, like a dreary warning, begging him to turn back and retreat to his tiny room. Harry tightened his fists and released a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, and attempted to let all of his cares go in the vast gloom that surrounded him.

As he maneuvered up the steep ways, Harry moved carefully, listening as noises echoed throughout this area of the giant home. He finally breathed a sigh as the candlelight was seen through the line at the bottom of the door where he needed to be. Holding in a groan of dismay, he shivered unpleasantly at the recognizable sound of Agatha’s voice. Harry’s hand instinctively went to his hip and ensured it was covered by his clothing. It was fruitless to concern the Head of the Household with such frivolous incidents, knowing it would be worse if the woman knew the truth.

The shrill intensity of her voice caused Harry’s heart to race again but for far different reasons this time. It sounded as though Agatha was in the kitchen and undoubtedly waiting for him, not scolding anyone else this time. He hurried now, no longer trying for silence as he moved along the remaining stairs, knowing he had already been cutting his time close. He should have arisen when his eyes first opened, rather than procrastinate as he had.

“Harry,” Agatha greeted curtly as the young man stepped through the wooden entrance of the kitchens. “I assumed that to be you.” Harry nodded and moved to grab his apron from the hook on the wall, part of his uniform until midday.

“Yes, ma’am,” he spoke obediently. He glanced around the counter where Agatha still stood before turning to him. Agatha handed him the menu from her pocket, and Harry glanced over the selection for the day. He held in the urge to sigh at a complicated breakfast but kept his lips formed in a straight line to keep from saying anything unpleasant.

Harry focused on the task at hand and immediately began pulling out needed supplies from the bins at the far wall, listening for the older woman to start with the expected lecture. However, Agatha continued to stand watching him, as if rooted in place. When Harry moved to the adjoining wall, pulling out the needed fruits, Agatha moved with him. Harry attempted to pay no heed to her lingering presence, knowing she might speak eventually. Agatha often did when it came to his presence in the household.

“Harry,” Agatha finally spoke, and he nearly sighed with relief. A maid Harry had not noticed retreated from her place at the sink, leaving the two of them alone, and he inwardly pondered if there was a purpose to the action. The older woman’s voice grew soft, but instead of comfort, Harry dreaded the coming words. “We need to talk about this past evening.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded monotonously, immediately recalling the conversation with the Tomlinson heir.

Agatha stood in front of him, stopping Harry as he attempted to move to the sink to rinse the items in his hands. Despite allowing him to continue on previous occasions, this conversation was different, and desperation seeped through Harry, causing him to understand now what was happening. He stopped and set the fruits on the wooden board, and though he turned towards Agatha’s strong stance, Harry did not meet her harsh gaze. His eyes were trained only on the strawberries he was supposed to be washing, wishing he could now be removing all remnants of the dirt and leaves. Agatha huffed from beside him, but Harry continued to stand still, despite knowing how easily he could fall behind.

“Your appearance was appalling,” Agatha’s voice hardened as she spoke again, “we have spoken of this many times.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry nodded in understanding, knowing not to say anything sassy just then. It would only make things worse for himself. He held in a sigh at the expected discussion. It was common knowledge that the young man did not fit in with the desired eminence.

Harry was not like the others. He did not fit in as required, considering why they moved to hide him from the present household. His presence was unkept, and body mishappened, differing from the appealing staff that surrounded him. He had been born awkward and unpleasing, even as a small child. He frequently stood out from the crowd, much to Agatha’s dismay. He glanced to the older woman to see her still watching as he stood and spoke, “I had no time to prepare; I was not scheduled to work the evening, as you know.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Agatha seethed, clearly unimpressed with his reasoning. “But child, I still expect more from you, and _you_ have yet to show it.”

“I am sorry, ma’am,” Harry answered evenly, staring down at the floor once again. A few inches from his toes, there was a spider, but he did not dare motion towards it. He finally turned away, assuming he was dismissed, and reached for the strawberries. He moved to hover over the tub of blueberries and blackberries, pulling each out by the handful and dumping them into the colander.

“The point is, no matter where you are,” Agatha continued in the same tone, drawing this out far too long, in Harry’s thoughts, and wondered if there was more she was not saying. “You have an image to uphold, child, especially in this household.”

“I understand,” Harry nodded, moving to the next fruit. “I honestly did try. Were there many complaints?”

“No,” Agatha answered, her tone softening. Harry relaxed slightly, and Agatha stepped back, speaking again, “But you are lucky.”

“I know, ma’am,” Harry nodded, knowing exactly who to blame if there had been a real issue among the members of the household or even society. He shifted along the side of the wooden counter with the clean fruit, nearly gasping as the wound at his side came in contact with the counter. Harry focused and began cutting and twisting the fruit, as he been taught weeks before, having only recently been moved from his place at the stables. He continued with each piece before placing it on the plate for the breakfasts.

“Alright,” Agatha nodded. “I have other obligations to which I must attend. Unfortunately, you are the least of my worries this morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Harry answered mechanically. His body felt the unease of the situation but knew what was expected of him, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not for now,” Agatha answered quickly. She stepped back to walk away but paused once more, and though Harry did not turn, he knew it was personal now. “I need you to recognize your expectations, and next time I expect you to follow through, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry nodded as he moved to grab more plates. He continued to prep while the morning’s cook began to prepare the hot portions of breakfast. Agatha gave him a warm welcome, and he immediately returned it. Harry noted it was unlike the greeting he had received.

“Harry,” Agatha started again. “Remember what I said… keep in mind, you are not indispensable.” Harry nodded and inwardly sighed as the sound of the closing door echoed throughout the room, marking her exit.

The rest of the morning followed much smoother than it had begun. Harry continued with his routine, preparing the breakfast and then following along with the cleanup. He assisted in further groundwork with a small prep for the evening meal, knowing the next would appreciate the assistance. Harry went ahead with whatever was needed, as he was no longer officially assigned to any given location. He simply did what was required of him, as he had been doing since arriving at the estate as a small child. 

Harry often felt the time constraints because he always took longer than expected with his tasks, but he never left anything behind. His appearance was most often the complaint, not what he had done with his time. Dinner was always an issue for the household staff, an hour Harry dreaded the most. It was not uncommon for one of the household members to change their minds regarding the meal, and order something different from what they made. It was the staff’s job to attend to their needs, and this included any food craving that happened to occur on any given day, at any given time.

At midday, Harry took a short meal before commencing his afternoon duties. He consumed his sandwich greedily, eating every crumb before washing up and leaving the confines of the kitchen. His meals were often taken this way, hurried and out of the eyes of any onlookers. Afterward, Harry moved swiftly towards the west hall, sighing with discontent over his afternoon tasks. As per usual, he took the back passageways, knowing no one but he and Agatha used them. In the west hall, his afternoon chores began, including dusting, washing the windows, and sweeping the floors. Despite the number of rooms, his duties were required in only the southwest library and two studies, where few would see him. There were also many bedrooms in the corridor, but luckily, it was none of his concern for the time being.

The three areas he cleaned were vast and cold as they rarely held occupants, something he appreciated. Had they been privy to more visitors in this wing, Harry knew his job would be much more in-depth, as the house's many main areas were. Though, outside of events, such as the wedding, he was not allowed in them. It was something imprinted upon him years before. This home was his duty now, not a place for amusements and games. Though circumstances had differed then, and he was much younger than his now eighteen years.

Harry glanced warily towards the southernmost study; it held the cousin on occasion, much to his dismay. When not in need of Harry, he could be found with some poor soul hoping to become the next Mistress. Harry shuddered at the thought of him as he entered the first study, praying the cousin had found other activities to keep occupied today. Harry was not in the mood to handle him. He would discover Harry, if necessary, for his needs. He was quite skilled to that effect, surprising Harry most often.

As he moved across the study, Harry sighed to himself, feeling the monotony of his days. It was not like the hours he had spent in the stables, and he had not decided which he preferred. While cleaning, it allowed his thoughts to shift and consider all that surrounded him. The days and weeks were predictable and routine, holding the same rotation he followed since becoming a member of the inner household staff. It was mundane in so many ways, yet there were brighter moments, such as the wedding's interaction, which he had yet to be held accountable for. Not a word had been spoken of his behavior, though he was always wary of that thought.

He thought of his strict schedule, wishing that he could have some variation for a short while. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he worked the kitchen until midday, then the west hall until nightfall, then kitchen clean up. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays, he did the East hall, which was much heavier work detail, between midmorning and the early evening, and going to the kitchen for the nighttime clean up. Saturdays were free, except for the previous one. And occasionally, he was expected in the kitchen for breakfast prep. It was a heavy schedule but predictable.

Harry always sighed with relief on these afternoons. The library was a second home, and unbeknownst to Agatha, his own personal study. He would purposefully clean the library last. He often had a book selected, either one from the days before, or the list hidden under his bed. It was not often that the staff learned things such as reading a book, but as a child, his mother had ensured he would find a way to attend school. It had never happened, but he made sure to continually find ways to read, his only way to remember the wonderful woman that raised him.

Harry found ways to escape, despite all that surrounded his world, especially on her days in the library. She would hide in the dark corner, prepared in hand in case the large door opened, revealing someone important. It was a game he had perfected since he had begun this rotation, and only once had he been on the verge of discovery. His reading was one joy in his world of repetitiveness, one he held dear.

Harry released a breath as he finished the last of the library, a sense of ease washing over him, and he brushed a strand of hair from his face as he found his favorite corner. He dreamed of a day when he could have his own home, everything particular, but the way he wanted it to be, not chosen by anyone else. He knew such thoughts were frivolous, but it was still a dream he longed to have. Sighing at the idea, he tucked the broom near the exit after he had finished with it, along with the other supplies. Shutting the door almost entirely, he walked back, nearly skipping with his delight at the moment.

A smile formed on his normally even features as Harry found his personal gift, knowing full well it was not his. But the words etched on the pages were enough to remind him that not all was bleak. He had been tensing and uneasy throughout the day but felt ready for a few moments to relax. He pulled the book, prepared to hide behind Shakespeare's words and his tale of the shrew, if necessary. Harry adjusted his shirt as he reached the chair; his boots shifted as he leaned towards the chair, ready to sit.

“Is it you?” he froze solid at the sound of the male voice behind him. Harry’s heart raced as his hand dropped, and as he turned, eyes widened as he took in the sight of the owner of the voice. With his fright, he dropped the book, causing a scene on the floor at his feet.

“And what are you doing here?” As soon as he’d recovered, Harry dropped his gaze away from Louis’ face. Harry’s arms moved behind his back as he stood, staring only at his feet. He noticed the dirt he had not realized was present on the material, most obviously from the cleaning duties.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he whispered wearily, glancing up at him only once. Harry looked towards the book and wished he had thought to shove it back into place, but Louis’ presence had been unexpected. There would undoubtedly be a punishment, and at that thought, Harry moved to step around him. But Louis immediately blocked his escape, causing his breath to catch in fright.

“What is your name, boy?” Louis spoke again, his voice considerably lighter, as though he was playing a game. He glanced towards him briefly, shocked to see a smile still gracing his features. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded, forcing his eyes on the floor, and purposely avoided his inquiry.

“When I saw you at the wedding, I simply thought you were just filling in,” he spoke again, stepping towards the younger boy. Harry did not meet his eyes as he continued to widen the space between them, fearful of being too close to him. He knew what would happen to those that did, but to his relief, Louis finally released a deep breath and stepped back.

“I was, Sir,” he answered evenly, inwardly calculating how he could get out of this situation. He glanced at the large space between them and made one step towards the exit, “Now, if you will please excuse me, sir, I really need to finish my work. I should not have stopped.”

“I wish you would call me Louis,” he released a sound of disapproval, but Harry knew what it meant if a member of the house asked for a first name. They became vile and cruel, and he did not want to consider the wonderful conversation from the week before in that way. Instead, he shook his head. Harry’s eyes found Louis’ shining shoes, the deep contrast from the worn look his own bore. He spoke again, and Harry felt a sense of unease fill him.

“You were much more relaxed the other night,” Louis spoke in such a gentle tone that he found himself wanting to give in. He then noted the sadness filling Louis’ voice, and it caused Harry’s chest to tighten. Harry didn’t like that either. He allowed his eyes lift to the other yet did not dare say a word to ruin what had to be between them. They would never be friends or anything of the like. It was not proper.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he finally broke the silence, voice soft as an unfamiliar feeling coursed through his stomach. Harry could feel his eyes on him, but he had already looked away, knowing better than to look up again. “Please pardon my words, Sir, it won’t happen again.”

“It is a shame,” Louis muttered before stepping back. With Louis’ sudden movements, Harry realized he was angry as he stormed out of the vast room, the large door slamming in the process.

Harry felt the startle as the sound resonated throughout the room, yet he did not move, only stood as though his feet were rooted to the floor. He glanced towards the book, knowing it would have to wait until for another two days, though it didn’t hold the excitement it had only minutes before. Louis’ words continued to replay in his mind, though Harry didn’t understand why. Louis was the heir, and he was simply Harry, a boy lost within a circumstance.

It was not much later when Harry returned to the kitchens and saw the present chef working and sighed, knowing Matthew was not nearly as easy to deal with as others. He made a small sandwich and sat at the table in the corner, eating his food in silence. Once finished, Harry moved quickly and quietly, his body stiffening as the other turned to face him. He ignored his antics, instead gathered the dirty pots and pans, already waiting for Matthew’s hour to be up when he would go, leaving Harry alone. He stood as he started the water for the dishes, the new sink took a long time to fill, and he kept his hands busy by scraping the pans into the bin through the back.

“Harry,” Matthew spoke, his voice teasing and playful from his end of the kitchen. Harry visibly stiffened at his voice but did not respond. He could never give him the satisfaction. Instead, he hurried his dishes, anything to avoid facing him.

The man was intolerable, and he never understood his odd behavior. Each night left him with chills down his spine, different from the familiar. As he began to approach him again, the door suddenly opened, and Harry glanced to see Louis entering. His anger from the library seemingly dissipated. Harry continued his task as the chef approached Louis, his malicious demeanor exchanged with a now submissive one.

“A plate, please,” Louis stated calmly, “For mother.” Harry could not help himself, watching as Matthew nodded and set to work. There was a sense of confusion as he looked on, knowing any staff member could have done this for him, yet Louis had come through their corridors. He did not look at Harry, almost as if on purpose, and he could nearly cringe at the increased tension set in the air.

Harry was supposed to be working but instead watched him from the corner of his eye, feeling his cheeks warm as his gaze shifted towards him. His lips parted slightly at how soft and gentle Louis seemed in that moment, so different from his family. He could hear the cook behind him, but his hands continued to slow, the dishes becoming less critical as Louis’ eyes felt more attractive. He suddenly gave Harry a warm smile, and he watched as his eyes focused on the food being made.

He knew it was wrong but felt an urge to return the smile, though refrained, knowing how improper it would be. But still, he could see a slight pink that appeared to fill Louis’ cheeks. Harry released a small huff of breath as the cook spoke, startling them both, and Louis visibly jumped at the sound. Matthew appeared to have missed it, but this boy, far more luxurious than him, did not and stared inappropriately into Harry’s eyes as he spoke to the cook.

“Thank you,” Louis gave him a small nod. “Sir,” he said softly, so only he could hear as he slowly exited the room, Harry’s eyes following him out the door.

He listened to the kitchen's sounds being cleaned once more and the furthering grumbles of the cook as he moved angrily around the counters, cleaning the mess that the request had made. Harry was relieved now as he knew that Matthew wouldn’t say a word to him as they finished their work in the kitchens. Matthew was too caught up and resentful towards the family that was now making him leave late. Though Harry knew, it was only his need to go home and nurse a pint.

It was well after night had fallen when he finally departed, and it was Harry’s favorite part of the evening. A large part of his responsibility now was to finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen, but now he could relax. Though he was alone, Harry never dared leaving before his expected time, even if he finished early. Agatha was sure to find out if he did. She always knew everything that happened, resulting in a high rate of dismissed employees. Harry learned quickly never to make friends.

Once his dishes were complete, Harry moved to the floor, sweeping and scrubbing the room. He did a final inventory of the pantry before doing one last sweep, smiling as he deemed it clean. Moving to sit at the counter, Harry attempted to avoid falling asleep. Soon enough, he would be sleeping on the crooked mattress that was in his quarters. When it was time, he blew out the rear set of candles, preparing to leave.

But before Harry could, he nearly gasped at the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway. He immediately curled into the corner, covering his mouth to hide his breathing as the footsteps resonated, lingering at first and then steadily growing louder. He watched as the intruder slowly opened the door and was trembling all over, knowing what was coming next. Still, he refused to give into him, and Harry stayed where he was, despite the front candle indicating his presence.

The sound was eerie as the steps continued, moving far too close to his trembling body. He closed his eyes in an attempt to pretend it wasn’t happening. It’d been a while, and the familiarity had faded. His hands moved tight over his mouth to hide his breaths, but it was to no avail. The footsteps were nearly beside him. Harry listened intently, unable to focus on anything else when a voice spoke. Yet, it was not the sound he expected.

“Harry?” he immediately stood at the sound of Agatha’s voice. His eyes remained wide as the older woman stared at him, “My goodness child, what are you doing back there?”

“N-nothing, Ma’am,” he stuttered, quickly smoothing out her clothing, knowing he must appear a mess, “You startled me.” Agatha shook her head as she glanced around the room, as though aware of his lie, but she chose not to comment on it straight away.

“Who else would you expect?” Agatha asked eventually, and Harry shook his head, releasing a short breath. Agatha turned, dropping the subject, but he still responded.

“N-no one,” Harry said quietly as he released several deep breaths to ease his still racing heart. Agatha turned to face him, and she nodded, “No one, but you, ma’am.”

“Why don’t you go on to sleep?” Agatha said, as though it was a suggestion, but Harry knew it was not. He stood, waiting for the confirmation he could leave. “Everything looks good here,” Agatha stated, surprising the young boy, “it looks as though you could use the reward.”

“I am tired tonight,” Harry admitted in a dead lie. He stood as Agatha continued to survey the equipment and gave the older woman a small nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You did better tonight,” Agatha commented as she blew out the last set of candles.

Harry nodded as he turned towards the doorway, watching as Agatha walked down the farther hall. Just when he was about to follow, his eyes snapped towards a figure in the distance, and he knew now it was not only Agatha who he had heard. He barely held in a gasp at the spot, unable to avoid his repulsive gaze as he stared. Without lingering a moment longer, Harry quickly turned before the other had a chance to follow, but knew it was to no avail. He would always find him.


End file.
